


# 07 Cosplaying

by 221_french_bee



Series: 30 Days OTP Challenge [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Cosplay, F/F, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-04 17:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21201266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221_french_bee/pseuds/221_french_bee
Summary: Uni roommates Sherlock and John are invited to a Halloween party. John had meticulously dressed both Sherlock and himself for the occasion. But isn't a disguise always a self portrait?Mutual pining, bad puns, a bit of hobbitlock and teenage love for Halloween!





	# 07 Cosplaying

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, this text has been written waaaay back in the day, when the Sherlock's fandom what's so hyped about Martin's and Benedict's performances in The Hobbit. As usual, I'm late in the game, but maybe some of you will like it?  
English is not my first language and I wrote this text back in 2014, when my written english was even worse than now.  
Anyway, please read and enjoy if you want. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.

“Are you going to sulk all night?”

“I'm not sulking.”

“Sure. But at least, can you stop 'not sulking' when we'll arrive at Greg's place? It’s rare that his parents leave for the weekend, we’re not going to have an opportunity like that again soon! All school will be there, it's going to be so great!”

John was bouncing with energy, compensating for the gloomy face of his roommate. Both teenagers were costumed and making their way through the London's streets illuminated with Halloween decorations.  
They weren’t the only ones dressed for the occasion : they've already passed skeletons, zombies with fake necrosed body parts, mommies and werewolves with different levels of facial and body hairs.

Sherlock signed as they passed a group of giggling teenage girls, barely covered by 'sexy' nurse costumes.

“But why do we have to be disguised?” he whined, pulling on his own garment. John had made him wear deep red tights, paired with a breastplate with articulated scales on his torso, and a ridiculous cape tied to his arms to make it look like wings. The blond teen had even groomed his hair with gel to flatten his curls against his skull! But at least the lenses company has been out of stock of the gold and red lenses John had tried to order. Thanks Halloween consumerism craziness for small mercies.

“Come now, Sherlock, it's not a Halloween party without costumes!” replied John with humor.

Sherlock only frowned deeper, finding John’s gleeful smile infuriating. Sherlock knew the teenager was pleased with their costumes and was in a hurry to show them around at the party, but honestly, Sherlock didn’t see what was incredible neither with his own nor with John’s costume. Sure, his coat was kind of nice, the burgundy color marching Sherlock’s costume, and John had neglected his monthly visit to the hairdresser, letting hair strands slightly wave around his face. But why did the chestnut colored pant had to be cut short? Plus, the October night was chilly, and John only wore flesh-colored ballet slippers with fake hairs glued over. It was rather impractical. And couldn’t he stop playing with that fake gold ring already?

“What are you, 17 or 7?” snapped Sherlock, “Besides, if your mother had coerced you to wear costume every year during your childhood, you'll hate costumes too. Have you ever seen my brother in a vampire outfit?” He flinched with a dramatic roll of eyes, “he looks like a Transylvanian sausage. It's a sight you don't want to remember.”

John busted in laugher, picturing a young Mycroft tied up in a full vampire costume with a grumpy face.

“Well, no vampire tonight, there will be orcs, elves, dwarfs and hobbits! I think Greg had a great idea with this Hobbit theme party!”

“No, he did not,” muttered Sherlock “And this costume is ridiculous.”

He made a flapping noise with his “wings” trying to emphasise his point. But John only smiled harder. 

“Smaug is one of the coolest characters!” he protested, “Or had you preferred to be Gandalf?”

“Who?”

“The wizard.”

“Yes! A wizard is surely the only one with common sense in this mad story!”

“Well, if you were Gandalf, you'll have to wear a beard, a cape and a walking stick, and yell thing like ‘run you fool’ or ‘you should not pass’ with a deep and cavernous voice”, replied John with a knowing smirk.

“Ok, then. At least the dragon hadn't foolish line to yell.”

“In fact he does.”

“Does he?” Sherlock snored in disdain when John nodded. “This film becomes more and more insane with every new character.”

John actually stopped bouncing and pinched his nose with his hand in exasperation.

“Are you going to be a party pooper all night?”

“_ You _ asked me to come.”

“_ You _ agreed because you have to make up for the jumper you 'accidentally' burned with that acid flask.”

“It was an accident!” protested Sherlock with a yelp “And it was a horrible jumper.”

“It was my favorite!” yelled John.

“All your jumpers are your favorite! There is no point to talk about 'favorite' anymore!”

“That not-”

“Hey guys! Stop the domestic, please.”

Both boys turned as a feminine voice interrupted their bickering.

“Oh, hi Irene,” greeted John, “hi Molly”.

The young women were standing a couple feet from them. Irene was smirking at them, her eyes shining under a blond wig. Her face was artistically painted, lips pales and face white as snow, her petite body in a long and ethereal white dress, her hands bearing a series of delicate silver rings.

Next to her, Molly was blushing, pushing nervously on her short tender-green dress. She wore her hair free on her back, small braids emphasizing the long pointy hears emerging from it, and a fake bow was visible on her back, tied to her petite chest with leather cords.

“I don't remember Lady Galadriel’s dress to be this see-through,” remarked John, eying Irene body barely hidden by the fabric of the evanescent white dress, “Is that even decent?”

“If you have to be wild one night per years, it is tonight, Jonny boy!” replied Irene witch a wicked grin.

John rolled his eyes, while Molly smiled shyly at Sherlock.

“You… you look really good, Sherlock.”

“Thank you Molly. I have been informed that I’m depicting Smilg.”

“Smaug” corrected John.

“Whatever he said”, dismissed Sherlock”, “I think that the plastic prosthetic pointy ears and the braided hairs are made to help you to portray an elvish kind of character?”

Molly face illuminated.

“Yes, Irene helped me with the costume. She wanted me to dye my hair red, but I don't think my mom would have like it. But you still recognize me as an elf, yes?”

“John had hadn't shut up a second about this insufferable movie, and I’ve understood that it had some norse mythology’s inspiration. As the elves are a recurrent figure of that mythology, it wasn’t a difficult deduction to make.”

“Oh, ok.”

Molly's face fall slightly. John elbowed Sherlock with a glare before turning toward the girl.

“Don’t take it personally Molly; he is in a foul mood since we left the dormitories. You look great!”

The girl responded with a weak smile, before they all resumed they way to the Lestrade’s house.

oOoOoOoOoOoOO

The party was easy to locate: music could be heard from the street, even louder as Greg, in a Rohan’s rider costume, opened the house door. He greeted them warmly and led them to the main room before rushing back to the door to welcome other guest. The group of friend was soon divided: John was seized by some classmates who dragged him to another room while putting him a drink in hand. Irene vanished in the crowd with an absent minded “later!” and Molly stayed at Sherlock’s side for a moment, before Mike came to ask her for a dance.

Left alone, Sherlock gazed at the mass of teenagers. The main room of the Lestrade’s house was full of excited teen, drinking, dancing or sitting in small groups on various sofas all around the room. Sherlock grabbed a drink on a table, then, while slowly sipping it, he looked critically at the other costumed teens. He noticed that some of them were wearing outfit similar at his own, surely trying to portrait the same character. Even without having a clear picture of the character of the movie he was displaying, he proudly noticed that none of the costumes were as colorful or as detailed as his own.

After some minutes at gazing at the other party goers, Sherlock gradually realized how much effort John had put on their costume. Even without a lot of money (all pieces of their costumes were DIY, or came from second-hand shops), John had wanted them to fit the theme, and had succeeded with flying colours. Normally, Sherlock wouldn't bother to fit and participate in teenage reunion. It was especially true during Halloween time: since his childhood, a lot of children had made fun of him, often repeating that “Sherlock’s don’t need to disguise himself as he is already a freak!”. But tonight John had wanted them to match, and more importantly, had wanted Sherlock to fit in.

Tonight, even more than laterly, Sherlock found himself amazed by John’s behaviour toward him. The teen was always so kind, so conscious about was other may thinks of Sherlock. He was never shy to call Sherlock amazing, and fiercely defended him again any malicious attacks. Sherlock absentmindedly chewed his lips, trying to dismiss the familiar pang in his chest every time he realised that John mad done remotely kind to him. It was a never-ending war with himself, to remind that they were friend, good friends, and that nothing positive would emerge from a change of that situation.  
Sherlock was notoriety good as dismissing his sentiments, and he was particularly keen to use that talent with his feeling towards John. Sure, it was hard, but Sherlock was nothing but good to pull a poker face, concealing his hopes and refused to name the sheer agony that fell on his mind every time John was going out with a new girlfriend.

He thought their friendship would continue like this, with John going out on dates and Sherlock pinning after him. But recently, John had started to show interest on boys as well, and Sherlock had no idea how he would manage no to turn into a screaming and pathetic ball the day John will bring a boyfriend to their dormitories.

Nights like this one, sweet and small intention like these ones, were pangs in his armor.

Shaking himself, Sherlock resumed looking at the other teens. His eyebrow raise as a pathetic excuse of a dragon made his ways to the dance floor. The boy had applied brown make up on his face, making him look like he had felt on a pile of mud before coming to the party. His costume consisted on a cheap plastron obviously coming from a knight costume and a nylon cape messily cut to make it look like wings.  
Wanting to share his disdain with his roommate, Sherlock tried to locate him through the mass of dancers. He was tilting his head on the direction of the cheap costumed teen, ready to share a superior smile with John when his eyes finally find blond haired boy.

John was looking another way, dancing with a blond girl in a medieval-inspiration dress.

Sherlock amusement was immediately replaced by an icy feeling. He looked John smile when the girl leaned more heavily on him, whispering on his ears. He looked at them dancing, closer and closer, with a storm on his head and a sour taste on is mouth. He scolded himself, forcing himself to detour his eyes from the dancing couple. After all, John had all right to be flirting. “The wildest night of the year” isn't what Irene had said earlier? So, Sherlock finished his drink in one go, bottled up his feelings, raised his chin and stepped into the mass of dancers, carefully avoiding John’s vicinity. The music was good, the gooze had been strong enough to mute a bit the desperate voice whaling in his head and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to dance into oblivion.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Over an hour passed before John managed to extract himself of the mass of dancing bodies. Gosh, it had taken him ages to get rid of that girl!

Wobbling a little from alcohol (he had tried to make her shut up by getting her drinks after drinks, and it was finally her full bladder who had allowed him to escape) he staggered unto the sofa, letting himself fall next to Irene. The girl’s wig was a bit awry and her lips and cheeks were noticeably more pinkish than earlier. Kate was curled at her side, her fingers intertwined with Irene’s ringed ones.

John greeted them, before putting his head at the back of the sofa.

He looked for his roommate through his half-closed eyelid, finding him in the middle of the dance floor. The dark-haired teen was dancing, his eyes closed, focused only on his body and the music. Some of his curls have come free from his gelled hair, bouncing on his forehead as he moved. John felt his breath caught in his chest, mesmerized at the sight of Sherlock's wave of hips, the fluid movement of his shoulders. As when he was conducting an experiment, or playing a particularly complicate piece on his violin, Sherlock was oblivious to the world, totally focused and very, very attractive.

John was unable to divert his eyes from Sherlock’s frame as tried to push away his feeling, repeating “out of your league, John, so much out of your league” like a mantra. But who was he fooling? He had been attracted to his roommate for far more time he allowed himself to consider.

And tonight, with the help of alcohol, he let himself fantasizing about the curves and angles of Sherlock dancing silhouette, imagining his hands on Sherlock wild curls, his body moving against him, his ragged breath on his ear...

“Enjoying yourself, Jonny boy?”

John startled, his head spinning as he turned toward Irene.

“What?”

“The dragon seems awoken tonight. Ready to let him step into your tresor chamber?”

Kate snored, while John frowned.

“Irene, I’m already too drunk to understand what you’re saying. What's that image?”

The young woman shifted slightly, leaning on the sofa toward him. She put her hand on John's arm, pinning him with her intense glare.

“I was trying to be delicate, John. I'll be indelicate then: do you want Sherlock to shag you tonight?”

“Irene!” yelped John. He jolted, nearly standing back, his face turning beet red.

“John, you were blatantly checking him out.”

“Was not!”

Irene only smirked knowingly. It was obvious for anyone with eyes that the two roommates were mad for each other. But Sherlock was shy, and John obstinate. A desperate case without a little help, and Irene would gladly fill the role of the fairy godmother.

“John, you've been dancing around each other for so long it’s not even funny to watch anymore! I don’t know how you manage the sexual frustration at this point.” She turned toward the dark-haired teen with an appreciative look “Besides, he looks amazing tonight, you've chosen the right costume. Quite a candy for the eyes.”

“I don't see what you are implying”, grumbled John.

“You know what I always said: a costume is always a self portrait.”

John raised an eyebrow with suspicion.

“You think I'm a small man with hairy feet, who love nothing more than to eat and stay at home all day long?”

Irene face was entirely too serious when she answered him.

“No I think you're afraid of novelty, but secretly want someone to make you come out of you comfort zone. You want to go on an adventure, and if you trust yourself, you'll be surprised by your own strength.” As John opened his mouth to protest, she stopped him by adding: "Furthermore, you’ve costumed your flatmate as one of the most iconic characters of the quest. You’ve literally paired yourself with the most powerful creature of Middle Earth. Do you think what it said to me? That you find him as dangerous as gorgeous, so much that you think he is inaccessibe.”

John stayed silence for a moment, cheeks red with alcohol and a bit of embarrassment. He considered protesting, pulling out all of the well prepared arguments he repeated to himself and others every time someone made a remark about his and Sherlock relationship. But Irene was not looking at him with teasing or distain. She looked genuinely concerned, her face open and encouraging.

John’s embarrassment deflated, his shoulder falling when he released an expiration he was holding for too long.

“But he is, Irene. A mythical creature, feared and worshiped at the same time. How could I ever compete? Can you picture it? Who am I but a small hobbit, not even courageous enough to talk to the gorgeous dragon without the help of an invisibility device. How pathetic.”

“Then throw away that ring John! Stop pretending that you are just friends. Get out of the shadow, and said to that dragon what you really think of him.”

“Easier said than done...”

“Tonight is the perfect night to do it! Flirt, use your imagination and your charms. Tell him that you want him to put fire to your forge, to find your Arkenstone, to claim you Lonely Mountain, to become...”

John chuckled despite his beating heart. “I get it, I get it!”

He sobered “I'll thinks about it, ok?”

“No, you've though about it enough!” Irene shouted suddenly, “Tonight the night of Durin's Day, do open the gates!”

Her exclamation was rewarded by a cheer from a group of the teen sit on the next sofa.

“Ok, that’s enough for the Hobbit references, I think,” said John, trying to calm her. Booze was obviously striking, and Irene had a habit to let her match matching tendency expand when she was drunk.

Joining his will to calm Irene, Kate leaned at the girl side, pulling a playful kiss on her lips.

“Well, you’re sooo better looking that Gandalf, at least,” she purred.

John looked always, letting the two girls share some sloppy kisses. As if they were magnetized, his eyes immediately fell on Sherlock’s frame.

Engrossed, he didn’t remark when Irene let go of Kate’s lips, and turned at him with a serious face.

“He is gorgeous John. Do you want him to be catched by someone else?”

Jealousy filled John so suddenly it made him dizzy.

“Of course not.”

“Then go!”

Before realizing, John was up. He clenched his fist and focused his eyes on Sherlock's form. Collecting all his deepest hopes and the liquid courage he had already consumed tonight, he took a deep breath a stepped into the crowd. It was time to stop being a coward.

Still sit on the sofa, Irene looked as John made his way to Sherlock and whispered:

“Come on, don't be shy. Step into the light, John. You won't regret it.”


End file.
